by Nick Molloy
‘Why did you not come over’ she said more than a little miffed by my flippant approach.
I made my excuses about respectability to my hosts and enquired about what she was up to later. She invited me to the beach the next day. I countered by inviting her back to the club, as the next day was to be my last night.
The next day she called again, inviting me to the beach. I again declined, citing time pressure over pre arranged engagements and reissued my invite to the club. She said she might be there.
Sure enough she came into the club just as I was going on stage. I came straight out and asked if she still thought I was gay.
‘Yes, you are gay’
‘Are you going to let me prove you wrong this time ?’
‘How?’
‘Up there’ I gesticulated towards the women’s toilets.
‘Ok’ she said coyly.
I wondered up first. Last time I had to wait 5 minutes so that her friends would not be suspicious. This time she followed about 5 seconds later. I picked her up and carried her over to the sinks where I sat her down. After pulling down her jeans, I literally tore the knickers from her body (the elastic snapped). This was hardly a marathon sex session, hard and fast was the order of the day. I turned her round, bent her over the sink and entered her from behind. She kept glancing across and watched our rampant animalism in the mirror. Normally, I won’t have sex in the actual venues, but my hosts had actively encouraged me after hearing the story of my glorious failure a couple of nights before.
Afterwards we went back downstairs and there was an uncomfortable 15 minutes where we pretended to be interested in each other over a drink (beyond the sexual attraction). She made her excuses and left the club shortly afterwards, having achieved what she set out to achieve by her visit. I found her simulated interest most amusing and in stark contrast to many of her British counter-parts. It actually felt nice to be wanted purely for my body and not for my ‘celebrity’ or my money. It was just a shame she didn’t have the confidence to follow it through on the first night.
The game we played is typical. I would much prefer it if women would have the confidence to go with their urges. For me, there is no thrill in the chase and chivalry is dead. We live in an age of equality and men shouldn’t always have to make the first move. If women still crave chivalry then its supporters must realize that they will never be equals. If sex is something women offer in return for jewellery then there is a definitely a weaker sex.
Modern society leads us to believe that women have broken their domestic cycle. They’ve kicked down the kitchen door, burnt their aprons and become sexual predators. It’s a nice media created image but not one that the majority of women have embraced. Equality is on offer, but it isn’t one that women have yet grasped with both hands. The sex game will probably always act as a good barometer of this.
There is no doubt that since I started stripping, my overall impression of women as a species has dropped. The level of nastiness they often show to complete strangers will never cease to amaze me. I should qualify here. I’m not talking about career criminals who set out to cause deliberate harm, but everyday people. Conversely, the way women scream because I walk into a venue (as a complete stranger) carrying nothing more than a bag also astounds me. Those very same screamers can turn faster than a world rally car. A couple of incidents exemplify this.
I was performing in Wimbledon one night. Three particularly exuberant women were at the front, one of whom was definitely my type. On completing the show and stalking my quarry, it was clear that my intended target was way too drunk to be entertaining. I talked to her redheaded friend for 5 minutes before bidding them farewell and getting in my car to go home. I suggested that she take her friend home as she was in a wobbly state.
I awoke next morning to a desperate message from my friend, Andy. Andy had organized the show the night before and had received a phone call at 4.00am from the police. They were looking for a ‘Mr Sexecute’ as he was the leading suspect in a missing person enquiry. I phoned the police to hand myself in and explained to them that they were the victim of a lie perpetrated by evil women. Their missing person was likely asleep in a ditch somewhere recovering from the previous night’s alcohol.
Rather than look after their stricken friend and take her home the other two had clearly lost her somewhere, as they too had fallen into a drunken stupor. Realising that one was missing they blamed their loss on an innocent man who they had met briefly for a few minutes that evening. I told the police that they were haranguing an innocent man and that the girls were formally wasting police time. Unfortunately this didn’t seem to go down too well with the police. The argument culminated in me having to tell them to fuck off and call back when the girl had woken up. My experience of the police is that they spend far too much of their time pursuing motorists, doggers and gays rather than murderers, muggers and rapists.
To be fair to the police in this instance, someone called back from a non-withheld number about an hour later and apologized. The girl had tuned up, still drunk. However, nobody was to be charged for wasting police time and the innocent man never received an apology from his accusers.
Another night I did a hen night with a stripper called Flax. I was driving us both and he persuaded me to go back with a few ladies to their house. He was convinced he was going to fuck one of them. I was happy to be dutiful and wait whilst he did what he had to do. The ladies seemed very enamoured with our presence for the first 30 minutes or so. I remember giving Flax a hurry up sign as I had an early start the next day. Then the jealous husband returned home. Not wanting to be involved in a police domestic incident and not wanting to get involved in a fight over something that didn’t happen, we left by the other door. There is no doubt in my mind that the whole thing was a deliberate set up. I don’t think the plan had run its full course. That was, for the husband to find her in bed with the stripper. She would have still feel attractive and the husband would have felt terribly slighted. The term nasty does not do her actions justice.
It may seem like I have spent the whole time playing down the easy sex element of being a stripper. Female sexuality does not by enlarge lend itself to casual sexual encounters after only a brief meeting of eyes. Gay man can have sex with a multitude of strangers in a manner that straight man can only fantasize about. Yet, the male stripper can easily outperform his typical straight rival in this area. I need to clarify this. Drunken romps simply do not count. If she can’t remember what you did the night before then shame on you both.
Sexecute has had his fair share of casual fucks with those allured in by his ‘celebrity’ persona. At a house party he was once penned into a bathroom by the Asian host, who got naked whilst her guests suspected nothing downstairs. Another Asian host once followed him outside and coitus was performed on the bonnet of a car in the middle of the country outside a stately home.
The hens (those about to wed) are nearly always well behaved when the stripper arrives. After all, the mother-in-law is often watching. However, sometimes the mother in law is not present and egged on by their friends, who think the husband to be is not good for them, the hens can get carried away very occasionally. I have been sucked dry by women who are to wed imminently. They take the final fling before a lifetime of domesticity, quite literally. Another night I was hired by three female students who were all blow job virgins. I ended up being their blow job coach as they took it in turns whilst I sat on a chair in the middle of the room.
Yet another night, I was dragged by my cock, from the centre of the room, by the wife of the (male) booker, upstairs to the bedroom. Whilst I was performing in their living room she was having a good nosh on my equipment underneath a big cape. At the time, I remember thinking ‘her husband shouldn’t really see this, this is not good’ However, I had nothing to worry about. The booker encouraged me to fuck his wife whilst he watched. The only proviso was that I had to be quick so the guests didn’t get suspicious downstairs !
H
owever, such occurrences are rare. Despite countless numbers of discussions with women about my ultimate fantasy I have still not got anywhere near acting it out. Some have talked the talk, none have got anywhere near walking the walk. I am still waiting to be gang raped by five lascivious ladies. Four will be required to hold down each limb whilst another rides on top. Of course, they will then rotate. Short of paying for it, the chances of it becoming reality seem slim. If I was gay, I could execute this ideal within a few hours of any given start time.
I have already mentioned that women do sometimes offer cash in return for sex. In nearly every situation the offer isn’t genuine. By making the offer, in her eyes I should play the game and then counter the offer by saying I’ll do it for free. In essence it is typically a pick up line used by those lacking confidence. Only on one occasion has a purveyor of that line followed through and only on one occasion therefore have I acted as a gigolo. Even on this particular occasion the lines were blurred. I was officially procured to perform a ‘private show for one’, but it was obvious, to me at least, what was going to happen.
To be honest, I found the whole thing quite uncomfortable. Not because being hired for sex was in any way unnerving or degrading, on the contrary, it was quite empowering. My doubts arose because of the nature of female sexuality (again). I was not being hired as a fuck machine (which would have made it a lot easier). Instead, the booker was looking for companionship more than sex. She was recently divorced. Although she knew what she was doing and the service I was offering, there was a lingering hope that maybe I could offer more. Although, I tried to be as sensitive to her needs as I could be, I simply wasn’t going to turn into a replacement for her husband. She knew it and I knew it. Therefore, the experience was emotive and difficult. Throughout the whole thing I had nagging doubts about whether this was actually good for her. Should I be taking money off her whilst causing her emotions to play up ? I know gigolos aren’t meant to think like this but people have feelings and I don’t like hurting those of the innocent. This is what it felt like I was doing.
The whole male escort for women industry is practically non existent. I have never met a woman who would admit to paying for sex or who frankly would get turned on by the experience. Women prefer to be loved before they are fucked and the premise of hiring an escort is the other way around. A high percentage (of the admittedly limited percentage of women) of those that would hire a male escort just for the sex, probably lack Hollywood babe looks. The job satisfaction derived from the act, for the gigolo, may be limited. I have spoken to one male escort who I believe was genuine and he said work was virtually non-existent. I have spoken to others who have said work was plentiful. These dreamers all earned about £8000/week but strangely drove around in cars that didn’t work. These escorts could all run the 100 meters in under 10 seconds. As I hope you appreciate by now it is sometimes difficult to differentiate between a liar and a twat.
To sum up this chapter on the fairer sex, I quite damningly will state that I simply wish I was gay. I feel trapped between a rock and a hard place (no pun intended). Nearly every gay man who hears this simply says ‘be gay then’. That of course, is ridiculous. That would be like me saying to them ‘be straight then and suffer less prejudice’. Few gay men can actually understand my reasoning and logic for wanting to be gay because they are simply not attracted to women. Those that have tried women in an earlier life often sympathize with me somewhat. Those that have never slept with women simply don’t understand and think women operate in the same way (mentally) as men do. Their naivety is astounding.
By contrast when I tell women that I want to be gay, they think I am gay but in the closet. When I explain my logic they think I am a woman hater/chauvinist. This just makes me want to be gay even more.
Don’t completely misunderstand me – I have met some women who are good in bed. The downside is that those that could fuck competitively are all stark raving bonkers – I mean seriously unhinged. This isn’t necessarily their fault. It is almost certainly a by-product of their upbringing. Whilst I believe that a certain amount of behaviour is genetic and predetermined, the majority of it is learnt and therefore a result of our environmental upbringing. Unfortunately for me, those that have been able to really make me moan in bed have also made me scream out of it. Their behaviours have included compulsive lying, self harming, manic depression and threatened suicide. Some of these women have never worked a day in their life (benefit fiends), others have high powered jobs. Some suffered abuse as children others did not. All however, did seem to suffer deep levels of anxiety based on feelings of inadequacy and insecurity.
They fucked like demons, but were impossible to live with. By contrast those that you would want to live with fucked to love rather than loved to fuck.
Epilogue
What has Sexecute done for Nick ? Has Sexecute been good for Nick ? These are questions I wrestle with on a constant basis. Becoming a stripper has been the best and worst thing that has ever happened to me. When I stepped onto the stage for the first time I was at a pretty low ebb. I had little time for the country I was living in or its fallacious alleged democratic ways. I wasn’t interested in polishing up my social skills to fit in with the British hierarchical system. By enlarge the British still seem to be a strange mix of fear, laziness and dullness – nobody wants to do or say anything that might upset somebody else. Orwellian predictions seem all too close to fruition for my liking. I often compare modern day Britain to the final days of the Roman empire. This once great land seems to be disintegrating and burning around us. Murders, muggers and rapists ply their trade with gay abandon whilst the fat cats grow ever more rotund on their plunderings. The man in the middle is getting burnt, but still he says thank-you. I guess I’m destined to be an émigré.
I left Britain once, but it was Sexecute that lured me back. He offered something that was the antithesis to the plundering that was rampant around me – freedom, fun, frolics and the achievement of a lifetime ambition. On one level Sexecute has delivered all that and more. He has certainly allowed me to recover my lost teenage youth years (a period that never happened for me). He acts as a pussy magnet, does wonders for one’s ego and masquerades me as a professional athlete. In fact, most men would pay to be in Sexecute’s shoes. The great thing is I get paid to be this fantastic road warrior !
Being recognized and pointed out by semi-strangers can be highly addictive, but in reality it is over-rated. Sexecute is really a front for a glamorised lifestyle, that for the most part should be consigned to the annals of myth and legend. In reality, Sexecute probably earns less than you do. Your pay check is almost certainly more secure and your working environment probably more salubrious. With plaudits also comes the jealousy and abuse. When did somebody last pour acid all over your car just because of what you do for a living ? In essence, Sexecute is a front for a maverick man who simply can’t fit in with modern mainstream society and didn’t reach the heights he set for himself. Like a loser’s reach, mine was too slow and short to hit the peaks. Sexecute is essentially a failed (some would say unlucky) athlete. Having run the 100m in 11.2 and possessing relative body strength that is considered elite, I possessed the raw materials that should have enabled me to eek out a living playing a team sport. Alas, the opportunity never presented itself and I’m destined to remain bitter and twisted about it forevermore. Sexecute is a substitute for that athlete I never became.
I constantly ask myself why are we so anaesthetized to all the lies ? Why do people fall into the mortgage/kids trap ? Why do people get raped at work all day and then say thank-you ? Am I the only one that can see the emperor has no clothes on ?
Sexecute delivers me from this great evil. I still occasionally wake up from nightmares where I am back working for a large corporate company. I know I’m not alone, my friend and ex boss has the very same nightmares. He’s dropped out of society too.
Ultimately, it was my fear of leading a ‘normal’ life mixed in with a dose of f
ortune that led to Sexecute’s creation. Zoe, my long term girlfriend at the time of Sexecute’s birth, always knew that ‘normality’ was my greatest fear. She used to lament frequently on how I was perhaps never destined to be happy. I have never been overly materialistic, nor have I sought fame. Yet, even modest incomes do not come about without paying some homage to normality (for those of us born outside the establishment). She knew this was my greatest fear, my solution was Sexecute and ultimately this is what parted us.
Even the pussy magnet aspect to Sexecute’s character is over-rated. Girls often want Sexecute to want them. Some want to shag him. Other still want him for their boyfriend. However, well over 99% of them want him to give up what he was created for within a week. Sexecute therefore struggles to find a girlfriend who can accept him for what he is. Zoe did accept me and him, yet still he broke us apart.
Ironically, as I write this today, another Sexecute girlfriend decided that his lifestyle was too much for her. I met Sylvie as I began writing this manuscript. A great 15 months ensued only for her to end it all like a car crash. She was here yesterday and gone today. She delivered a hammer blow e-mail designed to test even the coping mechanisms of Sexecute. Her ilk are rare. She was a gorgeous 22 year old, mixed race beauty, who was into exhibitionistic public sex. She liked it rough and was willing to experiment. Of course, she had the customary profile of having suffered abuse as a child.